


sunflower, vol. 6

by uneventfulhouses



Series: night so long [2]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 19:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21950764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uneventfulhouses/pseuds/uneventfulhouses
Summary: “You do so much for me,” Ryan says. Shane doesn’t know if it’s an observation or a confession, or if it’s one in the same.Shane doesn’t say anything to that, and maybe it’s not the first time he’s thought about kissing Ryan, but he thinks about it now, wholeheartedly, recklessly.Ryan leaves him, slips underneath the comforter and bed sheets behind him. Shane dips into the bathroom and showers.or; they're in a motel room again.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Series: night so long [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580413
Comments: 32
Kudos: 206





	sunflower, vol. 6

**Author's Note:**

> this is just feelings. also, this wasn't betaed. apparently, in this fandom, we die like men. shout out to jess. you know what's up. 
> 
> this is a work of fiction, all mistakes are my own, etc. etc.

Despite their confession, nothing changes. 

It’s not so much that things don’t change, it’s more so that there’s familiarity and certainty between them. Things stay the same. Shane finds there isn’t any pressure to do anything about what they said last night, and he doesn’t make any moves to say anything to Ryan about the way he feels. It’s the same way he’s always felt, from the beginning to now. 

On the airplane as they’d flown back to LA, Shane remembers Ryan’s hand in his, their fingers clasped over the armrest. TJ had seen it, seen them—because they’d not discussed anything, Shane wasn’t sure if this was a progression they were willing to share, but it seemed so, considering. 

Shane had felt hot in his skin, stifled by the warm air, the heaviness of TJ’s inquisitive gaze. 

“So, that’s a thing?” TJ asked him, voice quiet, gentle, like he was trying not to scare Shane away. And his eyes were searching, kind, just _wondering_. Everyone wondered, didn’t they? 

“I don’t know,” Shane answered, because he wasn’t sure, and Ryan had fallen asleep as soon as they’d taken their seats and taken Shane’s hand. It wasn’t as though he could ask.

“Oh.” TJ didn’t ask any more questions, and Shane didn’t offer him any additional information, and they spent the flight in silence. 

When they’d landed, Ryan had awoken next to him, squeezing his fingers, looking up at him with soft eyes, exhaustion waned from a few hours of sleep. There’s a newness there, looking at each other with this kind of intensity; neither of them move to break the gaze. But eventually, they had to, grabbing carry-ons from the overhead compartments. It was something else entirely to want to reach behind himself and find Ryan’s hand whenever they let go. 

Because that hadn’t ever really been the case. Between either of them, it was a gentle scrape of fingers over shoulders, the backs of their hands brushing, knees knocking when they sat too close. 

But because they said it out loud, it made it a little more real, and Shane wasn’t sure what to do with it. With what they had between them, how to navigate friendship with the added fact that they were both on the same page about how they felt for each other. 

What did that entail? Shane wasn’t really sure. 

In Shane’s apartment, he showers, changes into comfortable clothing, and lays his weary limbs along the sofa. He switches on the TV, watches mindless daytime television; it’s a Thursday, and because they’d just come back from a trip, they aren’t due into work today. 

There’s worry etched into his bones; he’s thinking about Ryan of course, wonders if he’s sleeping now, if he’s eaten anything, if he’s lying awake staring at the ceiling, still too afraid to close his eyes.

Even though Shane wants to, even navigates to their text thread, he doesn’t reach out to Ryan. And their thread is silent, no messages from Ryan either. 

So, maybe, things are different. 

It’s raining boisterously on Friday morning. Shane wakes a half an hour before his alarm, the pitter-patter of rain loud against his window. He lays there in grey light, half asleep just listening to it. His mind isn’t racing, and he’s not worried, but he still hasn’t heard from Ryan—which isn’t abnormal, Ryan has his own destressing ritual after their trips, but—

 _Do you think we’ll go home and be okay?_ Ryan had asked him.

Now, he isn’t so sure. They have to be. Because it’s them, just Shane and Ryan like it’s always been. 

The thing is, when he thinks about Ryan, there’s the warmth of coals, embers, a fire on low. Shane’s never really looked at Ryan and felt his heart race or his stomach swoop, or anything he would normally, necessarily associate with being in love. He’s had his fair share of lovers, he knows what falling in love feels like. 

Ryan brings him peace, an easiness he hadn’t known he’d been missing. And thinking of it like this, gentle, without flair, without extravagance, there’s clarity. This isn’t a crazy love. There’s an ache when he’s alone, soothed when Ryan is near. There’s chaos in his mind, calm when Ryan teases and jokes. There’s uncertainty in loneliness, erased when Ryan looks at him with sunshine eyes. 

Shane is certain he’s never been in a love like this before. And maybe that’s why he doesn’t know what to do. Because he has many friends, and there aren’t any that he can say cause him to feel this way. 

There’s an intrusive thought when he finally sits on the edge of the bed, that maybe he should call his mom. 

Uncharacteristically, Ryan is really, really late to work that morning. He’s shower fresh, eyes wild behind the black frames of his glasses, apologizing as he makes his way to his station at Shane’s left. He looks like he hasn’t slept at all.

“You okay?” Shane asks him before Ryan’s even sat down. 

Ryan looks at Shane, eyes void of any light and shakes his head. “I—I can’t sleep. I mean, I couldn’t last night. I just—the lights were on, roommates home, the whole—I should—”

Shane takes in a breath and reaches out his hand, hesitating only slightly before setting his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “Ry, you look—really out of it. You can take a day.” 

“But I can’t. I’m still too fuckin’ freaked, and I feel like an idiot.” Ryan doesn’t meet his eyes, just looks towards the doorway. “It’s—you know. Insomnia. It’ll pass like it usually does. Right now, I don’t want to think about it.” 

“Come on.” Shane stands from his desk, leaving his work—not that he’d started anything anyway. 

“Wha—” Ryan looks up at him, pleading eyes. 

“I’m taking you home.” 

“You can’t _take_ me home,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes, “you don’t have a car.” 

When Ryan smiles, Shane feels his chest tighten. And they laugh. God, they laugh so much it draws _attention_. They laugh so much Shane’s crying from it. 

“Jesus, _Ryan_ ,” he says as they calm, tickles of grins toying with the corners of their mouths. Shane thinks they’re delirious, but Ryan’s eyes are lighter, like he’s shaken off a weight, but exhaustion tugs at the edges, and Shane’s worried Ryan will just fade, turn grey; Shane misses the vibrancy, the rich colors of Ryan’s presence. 

“It wasn’t even _funny_.” Ryan shakes his head, still chuckling, but he stands. “I don’t want to go home, though.” 

“Where do you want to go?” 

Ryan shrugs. 

“Okay.” 

They leave, letting the powers that be know they’ll be gone, and it’s without much fuss. And Shane doesn’t know where they’re going, but it doesn’t seem to matter, not really, when they’re running in the parking lot towards Ryan’s car, rushing to get out of the rain. Shane is in the driver’s seat, Ryan sitting passenger with his feet on the dash. 

Shane’s not driving for more than a handful of moments before Ryan’s sleeping soundly, slumped against the passenger door. 

Codependency has never occurred to Shane, but here, it seems like the right term to describe what they have. 

Honestly, it’s not good, but within the confines of his own mind, it fits. It’s such an ugly word, though, he thinks.

Shane flickers back to his thoughts from earlier that morning, and it makes a little more sense to him, a definition of how they’ve come to this point. 

I-5 is clogged, congested, and Shane drums his fingers against the steering wheel. The rain comes down in sheets, covering the windows with a flimsy blur. There’s a chill in the car; Shane switches on the heater, lets it blow on low, so Ryan doesn’t get cold. 

The stereo plays quiet, something from his playlist he’d selected when he’d stopped to get gas. It’s just after noon and he’s starting to get hungry, but he doesn’t bother with stopping. He still doesn’t know where they’re going, but Ryan’s sleeping and he’s realized he’s become, at some point, codependent on his best friend, whom he’s in love with, and there’s a lot of feelings he doesn’t know how to analyze or categorize. 

Truthfully, it scares the shit out of him. 

Ryan wakes when they’re just passing through Modesto. He’s been driving for a little over five hours. Shane hums along to the radio. 

Silence is bestowed, only disturbed when Ryan says, “I’m hungry.” 

And also, again, when Shane says, “Me too.” 

It isn’t difficult to find a taco truck in California. They get plates, bottles of water, and eat. It’s still raining, so they’re sitting in Ryan’s car, fogging up the windows with the warmth of their breath. 

“Feel better?” Shane asks eventually. 

“Kinda. I’m still tired. Why’d you drive all the way out here?” 

Shane shrugs. “Just started. And then you fell asleep, so I just kept going.”

Ryan blinks at him. “So, there’s no particular place we’re going?” 

Shane shakes his head, finishing the last bite of his taco. 

“Can we keep going?” 

“Sure.” 

With Ryan awake, there’s chance for conversation, although not much of it happens. Shane is starting to get tired, but he won’t admit it.

Ryan looks steadily out of the windshield, periodically humming to the songs that play from Shane’s playlist. 

They cross over into Oregon at nine. 

It’s abundantly woodsier; they aren’t on the freeway anymore. County roads take them through winding ‘scapes, and Ryan seems at peace next to him. They’ve been holding hands for the last four hours. 

They haven’t talked about what that means, but it’s fine, because Shane’s not sure he wants to know. Because he likes this, just like it is. 

“Think we should stop soon?” Ryan asks, turning to look at him. “I have to pee anyway.” 

Shane figures they may as well.

They do stop, but they don’t rest. They get gas, caffeine, and find a nearby department store. They get toothbrushes, nondescript sweatpants and t-shirts, underwear. 

“What else?” Ryan says. 

“Phone charger.” 

They get that, too.

When they get to the register, there’s a gal with blue hair that helps them. She’s young, maybe in her very early twenties if not still clinging to the dregs of her teenage years. Shane can see the recognition in her eyes—it doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it makes him happy. He gives her a wink, and she grins at him. 

They pay for their things and go. 

“Do you want me to drive?” Ryan asks. 

“No, I’m good.” 

“Think we can make it to Portland?”

“What’s in Portland?” Shane spares a quick glance over to Ryan. 

Ryan’s looking at him, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Okay,” Shane concedes. 

They make it to Seaside instead, just a couple hours further, just underneath Washington State. It’s almost five in the morning and they’re both bleary eyed and tired.

The beach is open, so they sit in the sand; it’s exponentially different than a forest, looming trees and shadows lurking with ideations of the dead.

They sit, weary, in jeans and sneakers, what they’d worn to work, and for a while they’re quiet, holding hands, but quiet. 

The sun greets them, with pinks and oranges, the muted blue of the sky. Shane is exhausted. He doesn’t have much in him, but it seems, neither does Ryan, asleep on his shoulder, and it feels okay. Everything feels okay. 

Breakfast is hash browns and scrambled eggs. Shane has a daunting feeling, something that feels a lot like he doesn’t want to go back to California. And it’s not like Seaside is anything special. Santa Monica has a beach just a half hour from where he lives. But here, they’re invisible; there’s a tranquility he hadn’t known they needed. Less requirements to be anything other than what they’d like, what they want.

“You good?” Shane wonders from his side of the booth. He touches his hand to the back of Ryan’s and Ryan turns his hand over, palm laying up. Shane traces his fingers, gentle, over Ryan’s palm.

“Yeah,” Ryan answers, eyes red from sleeplessness, but not caused by terror. He smiles.

They check into a hotel just off the beach, aptly named _The Seaside Inn_ , somewhere around nine am. 

In the lobby, it’s Ryan that talks to the clerk while Shane holds their one bag of belongings. There are seashells and anchors hanging on the walls, sand that crunches underneath Shane’s shoes like it’s impossible to get out.

“Uh, one bed, or two?” the woman asks with kind eyes. 

“One, please,” Ryan answers politely. 

Shane, admittedly, is surprised, even though he feels like he shouldn’t be. And yet, he’s watching Ryan with curiosity, feeling a little like he’s been caught when Ryan looks back at him. 

“Here’s your key. Enjoy your stay.” 

Ryan takes the key card from the counter and deposits it into his pocket. Shane follows him to the elevator.

They take turns showering, brushing their teeth, and then it’s time for bed, even though sunlight bleeds through the cracks in the curtains. The last time they shared a room, Ryan was fraught with fright, and Shane was brimming with sorrow. Here, there isn’t any of that.

Shane sits on the edge of the bed as he waits for Ryan to finish. When he comes out of the bathroom, it’s with billowing steam, shirtless; Shane’s witnessed Ryan’s shirtless body many times, and yet here, it’s intimate, more than it’s ever been maybe, because the air is open with possibility, with perhaps and maybe.

Locking the screen, Shane sets his phone down on the bed beside him when Ryan walks up to him, standing between his thighs; Shane has to look up. He doesn’t ever have to, not with Ryan, and maybe Shane hadn’t known his heart _could_ catapult into such a reckless rhythm, but it does, and Shane’s breath is stuck in his throat. He doesn’t mean to, but his eyes drift over the expanse of naked skin in front of him, over Ryan’s chest and his stomach, settling for a moment where the elastic of his underwear is tight around his hips. His gaze is stolen away, flickering back up to Ryan’s face when Ryan reaches his hand to touch Shane’s shoulder, then slowly up, so his thumb drags over Shane’s scratchy jaw.

“You do so much for me,” Ryan says. Shane doesn’t know if it’s an observation or a confession, or if it’s one in the same.

He doesn’t say anything to that, and maybe it’s not the first time he’s thought about kissing Ryan, but he thinks about it now, wholeheartedly, recklessly. 

Ryan leaves him, slips underneath the comforter and bed sheets behind him. Shane dips into the bathroom and showers. 

Ryan is still awake when Shane slips into bed beside him. The room is startlingly quiet, but Shane doesn’t want to say anything, doesn’t want to make a move and ruin the tranquility. Ryan’s back is turned towards Shane, facing the door, just like he always is. That want to touch Ryan between the shoulder blades surfaces again, especially with late morning sunlight touching him, like the light belongs to Ryan alone.

Shane settles, comfortable against foreign pillows, underneath unknown sheets. Even then, it’s familiar. 

“Did you know,” Shane says softly, looking up at the ceiling, “when sunflowers can’t find the sun, they face each other?”

Like Shane’s enticed him, Ryan turns over underneath the bed sheets. He faces Shane, and Shane looks at him. Tired as ever, but peaceful, gentle in his features.

“So, like us?” Ryan’s eyes are playful, glittering.

“You think we’re sunflowers? There’s sunlight everywhere.” Shane waves his hands, in case Ryan’s missed all of the bright light spilling over the bed. And yet, they face each other, and Shane thinks it’s applicable. He thinks maybe, the world could turn a billion and one times around the sun, and Shane would orbit Ryan just as many times. 

“I think we’re _something_ ,” Ryan says. “You know, we agreed.” 

“Agreed what?” Shane asks, but he knows, God, he knows. 

“That, _you know_ ,” Ryan pauses. He blinks. “You haven’t kissed me yet.” 

Shane hums. 

And here, in this hotel room a thousand miles away from home, he feels surprised. Because he’s been thinking about it, because it seems Ryan has, too, because now he has the open space to do so. 

“Is that what you want?” Shane muses aloud, catching his radiant brown eyes. 

“I think so,” Ryan whispers. “Don’t you?” His eyes are wide and wondrous, beautiful in late morning light. All Shane has to do is turn into him. Because, of course, yes, he does. 

When Shane wakes the bed is empty next to him. Shane doesn’t know what that means as he lies awake, staring towards the sea. 

No, he didn’t kiss Ryan, but Ryan had held him, draped along Shane’s spine, palm against Shane’s chest. It had been an intimate display of affection as the two of them fell asleep. When he reaches behind him, the bed is still warm. 

Shane finds his phone tucked underneath his pillow and sees it’s just after four. Their sleep schedules are so fucked up. There’s shuffling outside of the door of their room and Shane turns to look, just as Ryan walks in, carrying bags of food. 

“Oh, good, you’re awake.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Some,” Ryan says. “But I slept in the car. You didn’t, so I thought I would get us something to eat. I’m _starving_.” 

They eat in bed, burgers and fries, smiling at each other when they look up and catch the other one gazing. Cross legged, knees touching.

It’s coquettish.

“I needed this,” Ryan says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He leans back against the palms of his hands, sighing extravagantly. 

“The food?”

Ryan shakes his head. “No. This.” He waves his hand at the hotel room. “Away from things. And, it’s not haunted. I checked.” He sniffs, like he’s searching for a scent. “No ghosts.” 

Shane laughs, eyes shut tight. “You know that’s not an actual test.” 

“It’s the Ryan Bergara Test. It’s real as fuck, man.” 

Shane quirks an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine, I looked it up. No harm in making sure,” he says with an easy grin.

Shane laughs, but he agrees, though. He needed this, too.

When they’re quiet for too long, Shane plucks courage from the air and breaks it.

“Do you remember anything? Think it was some sort of exponential panic attack?” 

Ryan looks at him, picking at loose threads in the comforter, shrugging his shoulders after a moment. 

Shane waits for him to speak, but he doesn’t, at the very least, not immediately. Shane thinks about that night; it feels like it’s been lifetimes since, not just the flimsiness of two whole days.

“It didn’t feel like one.” Ryan inhales deep, frowning. “Different than that. I don’t usually—you know.” 

Of course, Shane knows that, because Shane’s talked him down, talked him back to lucidity, to normalcy, from counting breaths to rubbing Ryan’s back to repeating over and over that Ryan was going to be okay—it’s been countless times he’s done it. Shane knows, like no one else, maybe, what Ryan’s like when it happens. But this was admittedly, much, much different. 

“I mean, it’s...I’m still freaked out by it, and I’m sure it’s why I can’t sleep, but. I sleep okay when you’re around. You’re like a night-light.” 

Shane cracks a smile, shaking his head. “Hardly.” 

Ryan hums, and shifts his body to lay long-ways on the bed. “Either way, you help. Maybe I’m cursed.” 

“Can ghosts, in this hypothetical world where they could possibly exist, curse people?” Shane asks, looking behind him. 

Ryan’s shirt has risen just a smidge over his tummy and there’s a wide expanse of skin that Shane’s eyes lay vision to; Shane would bet it’d be soft under his fingertips, would bet Ryan would shiver if he touched him there.

Rather than continue to leer, Shane shifts too, leaning back on his elbow, casting his eyes over to the balcony; they’ve left the doors open so there’s a fresh wash of breeze every now and again, carrying in the salty scent of the sea.

“Who knows. Who knows anything?” Ryan murmurs. And when Shane looks back, Ryan’s eyes are playful, glimmering, mouth cocked into some semi-smile that makes Shane’s body a little warmer than he can blame the weather for. 

“I like to think I know a couple things.” 

It’s sunset, orange and pink filtering through the curtains, the glow of it casts like dripping paint over the walls. 

The room is void of fear, of calamity, of longing.

And Shane knows the taste of Ryan’s mouth, the heat of his tongue, the gentle palms of his hands. 

It happens slowly, just after they’ve eaten. Ryan collects their trash, moves it off the bed. They talk and laugh, and bicker. There’s always so much of that. 

Ryan says, “Shut up, Shane.” 

Shane responds with, “Make me.”

And Ryan quirks an eyebrow; it’s an invitation. For what? Shane’s not entirely certain on the stipulations, the regulations, what he wants and needs and wishes for, but Ryan crawls over the bedsheets to where Shane is sitting. 

Ryan is tall here, on his knees, looking down at Shane, and Shane’s helpless, a victim to the violent beat of his heart.

Here, in waning daylight, Ryan looks at him with those sunshine eyes; Shane doesn’t remember the last time he’d seen them, but here, they’re luminescent. Part of Shane feels like he might go blind from the divinity of them. Shane’s hand reaches to touch Ryan’s hip, just to curve his hand against skin and bone. 

“Come here,” Shane beckons. Ryan sets shaky hands on Shane’s shoulders, knees moving on either side of Shane’s thighs. They don’t break the eye contact as Ryan lowers, sitting himself across Shane’s lap.

Shane sucks in a shuddery breath. They’re closer than they’ve ever been, Shane thinks. He needs a moment. A lot of moments, really, but one specifically, crucially, just to collect himself. With Ryan so close, Shane allows himself to touch and Ryan is open, inviting. Shane’s fingers trip over the cotton of Ryan’s t-shirt as they traipse his waist. Shane doesn't know why he’s hesitating. 

“Shane,” Ryan whispers. “It’s okay.” His hands smooth their way over Shane’s shoulders, slowly, waking fire where they touch. Ryan’s thumbs end settled on the corners of Shane’s jaw.

“It’s okay?” Shane asks, blinking up at Ryan. 

“Is this how you are with all the people you’ve been with?” he queries. 

Shane doesn’t have to think about it before he shakes his head. “No.” 

“Why am I any different?”

There are so many becauses; Shane’s afraid to list them in his mind, let alone out loud. So, he only says, “Because.” 

With one hand, Ryan drags his hand down Shane’s arm just to touch his fingertips to the curve of Shane’s elbow.

It’s a silly place to touch, like it’s not a real part of his body. 

“I want you,” Ryan whispers. 

Bodies pressed from chest to hip, Shane leans in, catches Ryan’s chapped lips against his own. 

Peace breaks and it’s illustrious. 

Shane learns Ryan kisses like he’ll never get the chance to again; he kisses like he talks, breathless stretches of speech, expressive hands. Shane falls into it, kissing steadily, trying to keep up, breathing hard through his nose as he acquaints himself with this version of Ryan. He tugs at Shane, pulling him closer and it’s even _more_ ; Shane holds Ryan close, just so he can lean him back against the messy sheets of their bed. He settles somewhat on top of Ryan’s body so their legs tangle, thighs pressed precariously between thighs. He eases Ryan into unhurriedness, because they don’t have to rush, even though the curl of arousal that swoops low in Shane’s belly insists otherwise.

“Hey.” Shane pulls back, just a hair's breadth away from Ryan’s mouth. 

“I’m good, I’m good,” Ryan breathes, looking up at Shane. He combs his fingers through Ryan’s hair, settling his thumb on Ryan’s pulse where it beats wild, untamed, mirroring the incandescent glow of Ryan’s eyes. 

“Easy, okay?” Shane whispers, leaning in, and he can feel the way Ryan’s body sinks into the mattress beneath them, how his hands grip less, they just settle against the spaces between Shane’s ribs. 

It’s lovelier now that it’s slow, where the fire has calmed to embers, burning just as hot but not nearly as wild. Ryan’s hand finds Shane’s chest underneath his shirt, pressing his palm; he’s not pushing away, just searching, and Shane wants to be found, he does. 

Lips catch over stubble, fingers stuttering over skin, encouraging newnesses; Shane’s heart is wild in his chest and he’s surprised that Ryan can’t hear it.

There’s a moment, where they pull back from each other and just look, breathing short, dissolving into quiet wheezes of laughter, giggles even. Shane settles, comfortable with Ryan tucked beneath them, the warmth of his body soothing the aches in his chest. He can have this now, it seems, and Shane can’t remember ever wanting anything more than this.

They kiss for a long while, a long time, the sun dipping below the earth, stealing the light away from them; they’re encased in shadows and darkness. Shane’s fingers know the dips and grooves of Ryan’s stomach, the cut of his hip, the small of his back. Shane knows Ryan here. 

The TV plays in the background. They’re wide awake but exhausted. Shane lays his head against Ryan’s chest and learns the beat of his heart. Turns out, Shane doesn’t need to give Ryan any beats of his own. 

“I think I’ve loved you for a long time,” Ryan whispers when morning teases, the sky lightening outside of the balcony doors. “Do you want to go watch the sunrise?”

Ryan’s breathing is steady, his heart is slowed. His fingers are gentle as they comb through Shane’s hair. He thinks he’s loved Ryan a long time, too. 

“Yeah,” Shane murmurs. 

They get up, get dressed in jeans from the day before, fresh t-shirts from their stash. They stand in the bathroom, side by side and brush their teeth. 

They grab coffee from the pot in the lobby of the hotel, making their way out to the sand. 

Shane’s seen enough sunrises. A lot of them, accidentally, with Ryan, but this one, on purpose, at just minutes before eight, isn’t any different than any of the others, and yet, Shane’s going to remember it for a long time, the way they’d sat on the sand, sipping from Styrofoam cups, looking out over the ocean, light reflecting over the calm waves of the ocean. Ryan must steal the light for himself because when Shane looks, he’d swear to anyone that would listen that it’s a lot like Ryan is glowing beside him. 

“Can we stay another night?” Ryan asks. “We can leave tomorrow. Be back at work on Monday. I’ll help you drive this time.” 

“Yeah,” Shane says, lifting Ryan’s hand to his mouth, just to lay a kiss to his knuckles. Ryan sits closer then, tucked right into Shane’s side.

The thing is, maybe they are a little bit like sunflowers, finding each other when the world is dim. Codependency, and that.

Shane is the one wondering now, if when they get home, things will be okay. 

He knows they will.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://businessbabybergara.tumblr.com/) if you'd like. all my love.


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